


How did we even get here

by PeacetimeResistance



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ASMR, Doctor John Watson, Hurt Sherlock, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Post-Case, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeacetimeResistance/pseuds/PeacetimeResistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long and dangerous chase, Sherlock looks like a mess. John can not stand that and takes care of him. Angrily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How did we even get here

**Author's Note:**

> My first published fic, haha, how memorable!  
> I listened to two-hour-recordings of hair dryer sounds while I wrote this *shivers*...ugh them goose bumps.  
> Enjoy and please leave a comment! Any kind of feedback is appreciated;)

„Christ, Sherlock! What happened!?“, John exclaimed and sprang from his chair.  
His newspaper slid to the floor as his flatmate came limping into the living room.  
So far it had been a very lazy Sunday evening and he had to admit that he’d been waiting for the detective to return home.  
But not like this.  
Sherlock was dripping all over the carpet and looked like he’d went swimming in the Thames. His face was strewn with cuts and smeared with dried blood and he held his left arm alarmingly still. He opened his mouth to speak.

“I…uhm…well let’s say I…had a rather unpleasant encounter with five Lithuanian thieves…”

“Right, yeah, that explains a lot! Bathroom. Now!”, John snapped.

“I’m perfectly fine, I just-“, Sherlock uttered and then suddenly tilted to the side.  
By the time he had composed himself, John was already standing behind him and shoved him to the bathroom door. Classic Sherlock Holmes: when he said he was fine he wasn’t.

John couldn’t tolerate his flatmate getting hurt, especially when he could have been there to prevent it. This morning he hadn’t felt ready for a chase, because of the job at the clinic and all. Again, he silently cursed Sherlock for storming off anyway.

 

With a curt gesture, John conducted his private patient to the toilet seat and ordered him to sit still, while checking his temperature and pulse. “God, you’re as cold as a banker’s heart.”, John said to himself and turned on the heating.  
“Did you fall? Hit your head?”, he continued his examination.  
Sherlock nodded. John immediately retrieved a flash light from his pocket and shone it into his pupils. Fortunately, his pupils constricted.  
“And your arm-“  
“I think it’s broken…”, Sherlock mumbled.  
“Move your fingers.”, John ordered. The detective did as he was told. “We’re gonna have to remove your coat and your shirt.”  
“Do as you please…”, Sherlock surrendered.

As soon as he was undressed to the belt, John was kneeling in front of him and mechanically placed Sherlock’s hand on his own shoulder. He groaned with pain.

“Don’t be unnecessarily rough just because you’re in a bad mood and currently not-“

“Don’t, Sherlock. Don’t. You won’t get me to commit another murder because of your arrogant arse. Not today.”

“So you’re saying there’s a chance?”

John applied a little pressure to a certain point in his shoulder and Sherlock winced.  
“How’s that then?”, he asked.

“God, I’m already quiet! Just be gentle!”

The army doctor began massaging his arm for a few minutes, then he moved it slightly to the side and finally relocated his shoulder.  
“There you go, not broken…Do me a favour and tell me when you’ve finished puberty, you drama queen.”  
“You’ll be the first to know.”, Sherlock shot back and smiled.  
“Alright.” John said and raised his eyebrows.  
A strange silence spread between them, and the detective started moving his arm around. He gave the doctor an approving look.  
“Oh John Watson…what would I do without you?”, he said and smiled anew, but differently. This time it was a little shier and…warmer.  
John couldn’t hold back one of his fond smirks that he only spared for the world’s only consulting detective himself.  
“Die, most certainly.”

///

Sherlock was sitting in the living room, wrapped up in his damp coat.  
The constant ticking of a clock somewhere in the flat wasn’t leaving his mind alone and it was unnerving - it distracted him from the rain softly tapping on the window panes.  
John had vanished downstairs (takeaway, he suspected) and already Sherlock hated the stillness that wasn’t one.  
He couldn’t remember ever buying an actual clock and placing it somewhere useful like an actual human being. If he needed to know the time, he would just have a look at his phone or ask John.  
But then again John needed to know what time it was in the first place.  
Sherlock suspected it was him buying the clock, like a proper grown up who needed an organised home and whatnot.

After a few minutes, he could hear steps on the staircase and the rustling of plastic bags. Redemption was nigh and so was John Watson.

His companion entered the flat with the words: “Alright, food’s in the house!” and Sherlock envisioned himself at home.

“Splendid.”, he answered. He watched John while he got out of his coat and shoes. But as soon as John turned around something seemed to be wrong - again.  
“Why are you still in your clothes? Didn’t you take the bath?”

“What bath?”

“The one I ran for you and told you to take before I left!” He got closer and touched Sherlock’s forehead. “Blimey…and you just sat here like this?”

“Indeed.”

“In your wet clothes, on my chair?”

“There’s only so much you can care about when-“

“…when you’re an arrogant arsehole? Damn right! And now get in there!”

Sherlock wasn’t in the mood for a real argument, and he knew he was very close to having one. John’s eyes, they were relentless. And his left hand slightly trembled.  
He yawned, got up and let his coat fall to the floor, trying to ignore the streak of dizziness.  
Sherlock wasn’t completely indifferent to human nature, he did notice the way John eyed his naked torso. Sometimes it was just easier to have him believe the opposite.  
And yet he couldn’t help provoking John. He couldn’t help triggering that wonderful expression he then wore on his face.

Sherlock slowly strutted to the bathroom door, completely aware of the pair of ocean blue eyes following his every movement.

John had been right, the tub was filled with lukewarm water. He started refilling it while he undressed completely.  
It wasn’t the first time that Sherlock had been completely lost in thought when John was around.  
That was simply the doctor’s influence on him, as his conductor of light. He added to his brilliance and that made him unbearable. Also, John was a fascinating man. Brave, direct, amiable, daring and so much more. Kind, above all.

Sherlock let himself sink into the heat of the tub and sighed. Despite his friend’s “I told you so”-attitude, he appreciated his effort to make Sherlock feel better.  
After all, that man cared about him and that was more than he had ever expected.

///

At the silence-ripping “pling” of the microwave John jolted out of his day dreams and took a determined sip of his tea. While he fetched the food he put on another kettle for Sherlock. He surely needed the warmth right now.

To his surprise, Sherlock bathed for about half an hour until he finally came toddled into the kitchen. He was wearing his dark blue gown and grey boxer shorts.  
Idiot. It almost distracted John from the way he held himself.  
An alarm bell finally went off in his head.  
“You alright?”

“Mmh yeah, just a little dizzy…”

“You’re not drinking enough, come here. And your hair is still wet, do you want to catch a cold!?”

“No, mother…”, Sherlock groaned and stumbled towards John, who placed him on one of the chairs. He immediately handed him a glass of water and his portion of satay chicken.

///

“Eat up, please, for me.”

“Oh so now you’re trying it that way?”

“Sherlock, don’t distract me, I’m seriously concerned.”

“How could I ever be distracting to you?”

“Shut it. You’re feeling dizzy, you presumably have a headache and you’re well on the way to getting sick. Just listen to your body! Or to me, for a change!”

And with that said, Sherlock emptied his plate.  
He drank two glasses of water and a mug of tea on top of that, just to silence John. Well, actually he wasn’t completely reluctant to everything the man said.  
He only wanted him to keep talking and caring, and yeah Sherlock knew, guilty pleasures and all, but he couldn’t help it.

///

The two of them (having finished their meal and their conversation) now sat in comfortable tranquillity. Then suddenly Sherlock startled, as if he had forgotten something.

“What’s the matter?”, John asked.

“My hair is still wet.”

“Still? How thick is your hair?”, John said and ran his fingers through his hair. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be daft, your hair is fine. Anyway, excuse me for a moment.”, he said and got up.

But as he tried to stand straight, he tilted to the side again and had to find purchase on the chair back. John immediately stood by his side.  
“You’re condition is worse than I expected. Let me help you!”

“Help me with what?”, Sherlock mumbled.

John sighed. “Dry your hair, I guess. And then put you to bed. I can’t risk you getting sick.”

“Oh and why exactly is that?”

“Because I simply care, Sherlock!”, John answered. He was almost a little offended by Sherlock’s doubts. He was his colleague after all, his friend…or something.  
Anyway, Sherlock didn’t seem to know what he was supposed to answer and John saw that as a permission.

///

The whirring noise of a hair dryer was one of the most relaxing sounds in the world to Sherlock and his list wasn’t exactly long.  
It reminded him of Agnes.   
His mother hasn’t exactly been the nurturing type and so Agnes Davenport had stepped into his young life. As his personal nanny, she would take care of him while his mother had been busy. After his weekly bath, she would always dry his entire body with a huge, silver hair dryer and massage his scalp – until mother thought he was old enough to take care of himself.  
He hadn’t seen Agnes since then. Not that it bothered him.  
Slowly but surely these memories had become the symbol for his childhood. And after all these years Sherlock was still struck by slight nostalgia when he heard one.  
Of course, as a high functioning sociopath these feelings were neither as strong as they had the potential to be and nor did he welcome them. They were distracting.  
But in a situation like this, with his head dizzy, his stomach too full and his system almost shut down, he might as well.

 

Sherlock was now sitting on the bathroom floor, wrapped in a blanket and leaning against the tub. John stood beside him, willing to dry his hair.  
It was a little strange, and John looked a little lost. But should Sherlock care?  
If anyone should ever be allowed to touch his hair, it’d better be John Watson.  
He tried to delete that he ever thought something like that.  
It didn’t work.

“You can sit behind me, it would be a significant amount more practical than straining your back in your current position.”, Sherlock noted.

“Er, yeah, right. You’re right…”

And thus he was sitting between John’s legs and wondered when he had lost his dignity.

///

John could see that Sherlock had goose bumps.  
The white noise of the hair dryer had a marvellous effect on the detective.  
A few minutes after John had started that tiny machine he had turned into a big, sleepy cat, as if is his mind had slipped out of his body.  
He was leaning onto John, and from time to time he hummed in unison with the hair dryer. John had the feeling that if he would stop drying and running his fingers through that wonderful, wonderful hair, something bad would happen.  
He dreaded that moment.

And god, was he glad that nobody could see them.

///

Sherlock couldn’t think properly and that was a rare exception.  
He was so relaxed he only existed, and his mind almost drifted into a peaceful slumber if it hadn’t been for John. John surrounding him, touching him, keeping him awake.  
Pleasure and torture.  
He wanted to turn around so badly. Had John noticed? Was he enjoying himself too?  
Sherlock couldn’t think properly.

///

He didn’t shut off the hair dryer, not yet.  
How did they even get here? John had never really found the time to enjoy things like this, but now…now he definitely did.

“You should go to bed…”, he whispered into Sherlock’s ear.  
It was dangerous. His lips almost touched his ear but he couldn’t withstand. It was already hard enough that he had to end this, whatever it was and so he lingered there, just one more moment.

Sherlock moved and almost faced him. Why didn’t he just turn around completely?  
“Please don’t turn it off…”, he sulked.  
With as much tenderness as he could muster he withdrew his hand from the curls at Sherlock’s nape.  
“I have to…”, he said softly. “You need to sleep…”

“Don’t be silly, I can sleep here.”, he said and leaned back again.  
John chuckled and sighed.

“Sherlock…I have work tomorrow.”

“Then don’t go.”

“I wish I could…Come on, Sherlock, get up…”, he tried to persuade him.

“No.”  
He sounded like a child. John grinned affectionately.  
“Bed. Now.”, he said and he shut the hair dryer off.


End file.
